


Somethin' Different

by Spoods



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: At least not that kind of angst, Bisexual Jack Kelly, Bisexual Peter Parker, Crossover Pairings, For anything more than that, Gen, Harry knows Peter is spider-man, Harry's also bi but he doesn't get a boyfriend here, I have to post this first so it all makes sense okay, I know that's weird don't judge me they're adorable, M/M, Marvel/Newsies Crossover, NO ANGST ON MY WATCH, Oh also there's no explicit stuff here, Peter and Jack gotta wait till they're older, The spiciest things get is a kiss, This will set the foundation for all future Spidey AUs where Jack and Newsies characters take part, We love two (2) bi icons, crossover ship, that comes later, there's a lot of them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:21:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22728328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoods/pseuds/Spoods
Summary: When Harry and Peter find out that Harry's father, Norman Osborn, is taking advantage of a group of young newsboys for profit, they resolve to go undercover and integrate with the group in order to find a way to help them resist and overcome the unfair treatment. As their plan moves forward with the help of the incredibly charming, incredibly cocky Jack "Francis" Kelly, Peter finds himself both annoyed and somewhat intrigued by the other boy's personality and attitude. Whether that slight intrigue is enough to get him through the occasionally insufferable time spent around Jack, well, only time will tell.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Jack Kelly
Comments: 7
Kudos: 12





	1. It Begins

**Author's Note:**

> NEW STORY NEW STORY NEW STORY!! Well, not new, actually; this one's pretty old. Like, 2015 old. But, like with Undertale, which I'll continue posting alongside this, I'll be editing and revamping Somethin' Different so that it's up to my current level of skill! 
> 
> SpiderJack (yes that's its name) is a ship very near and dear to my heart, even if it's not something anyone would Ever think of, haha. It's got a long, complicated history, but what I will say is that it helped me understand something very important and continues to make me smile every time I think about it! It went from silly crackship to OTP, so I'm very excited to finally be posting the first story I ever wrote about it - especially on Valentine's Day, which I've long held as "SpiderJack Day" :) 
> 
> Undertale will stay my main focus, but I'd like to upload this one every week or two as well. I won't be setting a strict schedule for this one, though, just to keep things slightly less stressful, heh. 
> 
> Anyway, I really hope you enjoy!! <33

Harry Osborn and Peter Parker spent a lot of time in Harry's large living room. The spacious open area provided the perfect place to do homework, chat, and absolutely wreck each other at Mario-Kart (okay, Harry was usually the one doing the wrecking, but Peter sometimes got lucky). The wide-screen, HD plasma TV always had the clearest picture for Puppy Bowl/Kitten Bowl Sunday, and the long black couch was especially good for dramatically falling onto when reenacting a thrilling story. 

The living room was _also_ the perfect place to have a good old-fashioned “Bitch Session.”

“Bitch Session” was the creative name that Peter and Harry had given to their hang-outs that were mainly dedicated to, aptly, bitching about the things that were just driving them up a wall - often literally, in Peter’s case. It was petty, it was whiny, and it was cathartic as hell. A Bitch Session could do wonders to clear the mind and rejuvenate the soul. Usually.

They’d both just woken up several minutes prior to this particular Bitch Session (frequent sleepovers were a perk of summer), and the boys rubbed the sleep from their eyes as they settled in for what would surely be another rousing round of complaining. 

"I just can't stand the way he treats me like I'm incompetent," Harry huffed, crossing his arms as he pulled his legs closer to himself and rearranged them so they were criss-cross applesauce. “Did you know the other day, I tried to tell him I went to extra help for bio on Friday, just like he asked, and he wouldn’t even give me the time of day? I couldn’t even get a word out! ‘Harry, not now. Harry, I’m busy. Go on and study. Lord knows you need every hour you can get.’ All I wanted was to tell him that I actually went to the stupid extra help that _he_ told me to go to!” 

He scowled. Peter nodded sympathetically. The constant failings of Norman Osborn to be even a somewhat decent father was a common theme in their Bitch Sessions. 

"I know what you mean," Peter replied, fiddling with the camera that hung around his neck. “Jameson barely sends me out on assignments anymore. He thinks I can't do anything right. I offered to cover the governor campaign this month, but he told me it’d be better if Ben Urich handled it.”

Urich was a great guy, a top-notch reporter, but it still stung a little to be so quickly and sternly turned down. He’d been working at the Bugle for five months now, turning in amazing, quality photos of his _own damn alter ego_ for his bristle-topped boss to twist and slander time and time again, and Jameson still treated him like a rookie. Sure, he hadn’t been on the staff for a year yet, but he was confident he’d proven himself more than enough times. It was enough to sour his mood any time he thought about it.

"It's ridiculous!" Harry spat, standing up and then sitting right back down again. He’d just felt that some emphasis had been needed; in the movies, people giving speeches usually stood up during intense parts. 

"I'm his son. His _son._ And he treats me like a nuisance. Even when I’m trying to please him, he either doesn’t give it a second thought or it isn’t good enough." Harry sighed and slumped back against the leather couch, sliding low enough so that his legs sprawled out under the nearby glass coffee table.

Peter reached over and gave his friend a pat on the shoulder. 

“I’m sorry, Har. It’s rough, I know. Believe me, if I could make him listen somehow, I would.” 

“I know. Thanks, Pete.” 

He scooched back up to a regular position and rested his chin in his hand. 

“I just...I don’t know. I guess I just feel like I’ve tried _everything,_ and nothing - _nothing_ \- works. I’m running out of options here.”

Peter opened his mouth to offer some of that special timeless wisdom he was so good at giving, but he didn’t get the chance. At that moment, Norman Osborn himself entered the room, and Harry quickly shut his mouth before he could accidentally let another word slip. His father was on the phone, professionally handling whoever it was on the other end of the line.The boys watched quietly from their seats as Norman began to pace up and down the living room, speaking in that calm, subtly condescending way that was basically his standard tone of voice. 

"Don't worry about it," he said, mouth quirking into a smug smile -- the only kind of smile Norman ever made. "They're just children. If they give you any trouble, just give them a good kick around the block. What can they do?” He paused, listening to whoever was on the other line. “...Alright, I'll get back to you once I have those papers." 

Norman clicked his phone off, slipping it in his pocket, and turned to his son and Peter. He smiled in what he probably thought was a free, easy way. It still made him look like a shark.

"Morning, boys."

“Morning, Mister Osborn," Peter said politely. 

"Hi, Dad," mumbled Harry. Then, sitting up straighter, in an effort to appear more collected, he asked, "Who was on the phone?" 

"Just the man who sells the newspapers to my new 'employees'," Norman answered, the same smug look as before coming back onto his face. 

Harry and Peter glanced at each other, puzzled. It was very odd to hear of any new employees joining OsCorp, especially employees who could be considered ‘children’. Norman prided himself on only hiring the most outstanding minds from around the globe, and each was vetted by a rigorous and demanding process. 

"New employees?" 

"Those ragamuffin kids that live down in lower Manhattan,” the man replied, and he gave a slight chuckle, which was something Norman Osborn never did. Now Harry and Peter were doubly confused, and, to be honest, concerned. 

Either ignoring or taking no notice of their wide-eyed expressions, he continued, “‘Newsies,’ I think they call themselves. See, just recently I was discussing the matter of getting newspaper sales up with Mr. Jameson - I’m sure you remember our new partnership.”

Peter and Harry nodded. It had been a strange day when Jameson announced that the Daily Bugle was now affiliated with OsCorp, but then again, it wasn’t really all that surprising. Norman seemed determined to own everything and every _one_ in the city one day, so acquiring a share of New York’s foremost paper was probably something that had been coming for a while now. Still, it was kind of wild to see J Jonah Jameson walk in the penthouse doors during a round of Wii Tennis, or a movie marathon. 

“Yes. So, we were discussing how we might sell more papers, and thus boost the Bugle’s numbers, and Mr. Jameson told me about a group of boys, about your age, who’d been panhandling around the building for a while now. That gave me a wonderful idea.” His shark smile widened into a shark grin.

Peter and Harry hated that grin.

“What...What was the idea?” asked Harry carefully.

“I told him to bring them all on as temporary employees. A freelancer-type thing, if you will. It works like this: one of Jameson’s men sells the newest edition of the Bugle to the boys, which they in turn can sell to the general public. They get to keep fifty scents of each profit, and the rest comes to Jameson and I.” Norman rolled his neck and tented his fingers. “Genius, isn’t it?” Norman laughed, and both boys felt a sort of strange feeling in their gut, like a twisting screw.

"Oh, wow,” Peter said, trying not to let his uneasiness show. “That’s...That makes sense, I guess. Uh...if you don’t mind, how much do the papers cost them, sir?" he asked carefully. 

"Oh, just about twenty-five cents," the man said, waving a hand nonchalantly. “It’s enough to let them earn a profit.” 

_Not a fair profit,_ thought Peter, but he kept it to himself. 

"Well that's, uh...great, Dad," said Harry, shoving his hands in his pockets and casting his eyes to the side. None of this sat right with him. None of it. His father was paying laughably low wages, far below minimum, to a bunch of poor teenagers who probably didn’t know there _was_ such a thing as minimum wage. This was just the type of thing his father would do without a second thought. 

Norman smiled and glanced at his watch. 

"I know it is. Now, if you boys will excuse me, I have some important business to attend to. I'll see you both at dinner, assuming you’re going to stay, Peter." And with that, he strode out of the room, a faint whistling floating behind him. 

Once he was gone, and nothing remained but silence, Peter and Harry looked at each other.

"Harry...did those numbers sound a little unfair to you, or was it just me?" Peter queried. 

His friend shook his head. 

"I thought so, too.” He curled his right hand into a fist, and his knuckles almost turned white with the tension. “I can't believe him. I just can't _believe_ him! We have enough money, for God’s sake, we don't need to rob those poor kids blind!” he seethed. “What is wrong with him?" 

It truly seemed there was no low that Norman Osborn would not stoop to. Harry shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was still mad enough to scream. He didn’t, though. That wouldn’t be ‘befitting of an Osborn’.

_Go choke, Dad._

"Child labor,” Peter said, shaking his head in disappointment. “Wow. That’s a whole new step toward Peak Awful.” 

“I personally think he’s already there,” Harry mumbled, “but I guess there’s always room for ‘improvement’.” He stuck his tongue out and huffed.

Peter frowned, running his hand slowly over the leather material of the couch. His mind was buzzing with a dozen different thoughts, and the foremost one was _Do Something_. He didn’t know what, exactly, they were going to do, but dammit, they were going to find some way to amend the wrongs being done by Harry’s father. It wouldn’t be right for them to just sit by, not while they knew what was going on. 

"We can't let this continue,” he spoke up. Harry looked at him with a slight head tilt. “I've always stood for justice,” Peter continued, “and these kids sound like they're in need of some right about now. I don’t know how we’re gonna pull this off, but…” He leaned forward imploringly. “I feel like if we just go down there and get a read on things, feel out the situation, we may be able to come up with a plan. What do you say we go pay them a visit, Harry?" 

Harry bit his lip and shifted in his seat. What Peter was suggesting was, however subtle or not, blatantly going behind his father’s back. It was going against what he’d want, and what he’d expect from Harry as his son and the heir to OsCorp. The thought of confronting his father about all this made his stomach churn.

…And that was exactly why they had to do it. If they didn’t stand up for these kids, no one would. And, hey, Harry had been looking for the courage to confront his father for a long, long time; maybe this was just the push he needed.

Harry’s eyes hardened with clear determination, and he nodded in agreement. 

“Let’s do it.”

~~~

Jack Kelly stood on the rooftop of the abandoned lower Manhattan building that he and the rest of the Newsies called home, - as much as they could call anywhere home - resting his hands on the railing and watching the sun continue its ascent over New York City. Beside him, his friend Crutchie leaned on the railing as well, the crutches for which he’d gotten his namesake propped up beside him. He’d followed Jack out onto the roof before the others had woken up, and he could still hear their faint snores coming from below them as they stood in silence. For a while they didn’t say anything, just watched the horizon together as it turned orange, then pink, then blue. Finally, Crutchie broke the quiet with a chuckle. 

“You're crazy," he said, bumping Jack with his elbow good-naturedly. Jack glanced over at him and raised an eyebrow. 

"Why, 'cause I like a breath of fresh air? 'Cause I like seein' the sky and stars?" Jack challenged.

"You're seein' stars, alright," Crutchie snorted. “Besides, it’s daytime, anyway. No stars ‘till tonight.”

Jack shook his head, his eyes fixed on the concrete sidewalk and paved street below. He reached a hand out and pointed vaguely in the direction of a far-off intersection.

"Them streets down there, they sucked the life right outta my old man,” he said solemnly. “Beat on by bosses, inadequate pay, and when they ran out of use for 'im, they kicked him to the curb.” A scowl stretched taut on his face, and he lifted his worn newsboy cap to brush at his hair briefly. “Well, they ain't gonna do that with me. I’m done with this rathole.” 

Crutchie tilted his head. 

"But everyone wants to come to New York,” he said. “It’s the City of Dreams, ain’t it?”

Jack scoffed. 

"New York's fine, for those who got a big, strong door to lock up,” he replied, “but for the little guy, you might as well be a damn pigeon in the streets.” Jack looked off across the city again, and his eyes obtained a hazy, faraway look. Crutchie knew that look. It was the look Jack always got when he was getting ready to wax nostalgic about a place he’d never even been

“I'll tell you personally; there's a whole ‘nother way out there,” Jack told him. “You keep your small life in this big city; give me a big life in a small town." 

**Jack** : 

_They say folks is dyin' to get here;_

_Me, I'm dyin' to get away_

_To a little town out west that's spankin' new._

_And while I ain't never been there,_

_I can see it clear as day._

_If you want, I betcha you could see it too._

_Close your eyes,_

_Come with me,_

_Where it's clean and green and pretty_

_And they went and made a city outta clay._

_Why, the minute that ya’ get there_

_Folks’ll walk right up and say,_

_'Welcome home, son, welcome home_

_To Santa Fe'._

_Plantin' crops,_

_Splittin’ rails,_

_Swappin’ tales around the fire_

_'Cept for Sunday where you lie around all day._

_Soon your friends are more like family,_

_And they're beggin' you to stay!_

_Ain't that neat?_

_Livin' sweet_

_In Santa Fe._

“Got folks there?" asked Crutchie, turning to look at Jack inquisitively. Jack sucked his bottom lip before half-shrugging.

"I got no folks nowhere," he sighed. "You?"

"Nah, I don't need folks. I got friends," Crutchie said, and he smiled and prodded Jack with an elbow again, prompting the older boy to laugh.

"Hey, how's about you come with me? No one cares about a gimp leg in Santa Fe!” Jack exclaimed, patting Crutchie firmly on the shoulder. “You just hop a palomino! You ride in style!" He held his arms up and mimicked flicking the reins of a horse. Crutchie laughed.

"Yeah, picture me, ridin' in style." 

Jack thumped him in a friendly way on the back. 

"Hey, I bet a few months of clean air, you can toss that crutch for good."

**Jack +** **Crutchie** : 

_Santa Fe, you can bet_

_We won't let them bastards beat us._

_We won't beg no one to treat us fair and square._

_There's a life that's worth the livin',_

_And I'm gonna do my share!_

**Jack** : 

_Work the land! Chase the sun!_

**Both** :

_Swim the whole Rio Grande just for fun!_

**Crutchie** : 

_Watch me stand! Watch me run…_

He suddenly became quiet, and Jack leaned in to give him a small side hug. 

"Hey...hey."

**Jack** : 

_Don't you know that we's a family?_

_Would I let you down?_

_No way._

_Just hold on, kid,_

_'Till that train makes Santa Fe._


	2. Carrying the Banner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Worlds collide when Jack and Peter quite literally bump into each other on the street. As it turns out, this is great timing, as Peter and Harry have been looking for the newsies! Neat! After some flirting (which doesn't work), Jack allows the two boys to join their group, although he's very confused about WHY anyone would purposely want to become a newsie. But hey, it never hurts to have new faces around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH BOY IT TOOK ME FOREVER TO GET THIS DONE. I know I'm not keeping myself to a schedule for any stories besides Undertale, but I do feel bad about waiting this long. Life kind of got in the way |D But I put a lot of energy and effort into this second chapter, so I really hope y'all enjoy it!!

By the time Jack and Crutchie had finished their rooftop chat, the sun had just begun to peak in the sky. And of course, with the coming of the true morning would come the work wake-up call, which was Jack’s duty to deliver. 

"Time for dreaming's done," he said, stretching out his back with a noticeable _pop._ Giving a small exhalation, he ruffled the hair under his cap and slapped his cheek a couple of times. Then he leaned over the edge of the rooftop as far as he dared and called down to the lower levels of the building. 

"Hey! Specs, Race, Henry, Elmer, Albert, get a move on! Them papes don't sell themselves!" 

There was some groaning and mumbling in the floors below, but that didn’t last very long. Race, generally one of the first to pick himself up and get raring to go, threw the ratty sheet he was using for a blanket off to the side and turned to the other boys near him. "Albert, Elmer, Specs! You heard Jack, get a move on!" he barked. His fellow newsies shot him their nastiest glares as they reluctantly sat up, rubbing the sleep out of their bleary eyes. 

"Thanks a lot, Race,” Albert huffed. “I was having the most beautiful dream! My lips is still tinglin'." 

"Oh yeah?” Raced asked with a smirk. “A pretty girl?” Albert began to laugh. 

"A leg of lamb." 

“Ah, even better.”

The other boys chuckled as the final dregs of sleep left them at last, making way for what would surely be another long, long, _long_ day’s work. Not that they had much choice, but hey, it was a living. And it made sure, at the very least, that _they_ kept living. 

Race reached into a pile of nearby bricks and fished out a small, thin, brown tube that he’d stashed there the night before. Before he could even make a move to bring it to his lips, Albert snatched it right out of his hand and stuck it in his own mouth. _Sigh._ It appeared that hiding his beloved cigar during the late hours hadn’t done much good after all.

**Race:**

_Hey! That's my cigar!_

**Albert:**

_You’ll steal another._

**Specs:**

_Hey, look, it's bath time at the zoo!_

**Henry:**

_I thought that I'd surprise my mother._

**Albert:**

_If you could find her!_

**All:**

_Who asked you?!_

The old building was a bustle of activity as boys of all ages and sizes put themselves together (as much as they could put themselves together) and headed for the door in one solid current. Albert fell in beside Race and Finch, the mooched cigar still sticking out the side of his mouth.

"Papes ain't movin' like they used to,” Albert sighed, arching his back and scratching idly at his navel. “I gotta find a new sellin' spot. You got any ideas?" Race grinned.

**Race:**

_From Bottle Alley to the harbor, there's easy pickin's guaranteed!_

**Finch:**

_Try any banker, bum, or barber. They almost all knows how to read!_

From the fire escape up above, Jack landed beside the flow of newsies streaming out the door with all the practiced ease of someone who’d done the same thing a hundred times before. 

“Mornin’, fellas,” Jack said casually, tipping his hat as the other boys passed by. At the sight of their de facto leader, many of the newsies’ faces lit up with big, bright smiles. 

“Ayyy, there he is!”

“Mornin’, Jack!”

“‘Bout time you got your ass down here!”

“Hey, watch that language,” Jack said with a smirk, raising a finger in a _tut tut_ gesture. The other boy scoffed and lightly jostled Jack as he walked past him.

“How you gonna tell me to watch it when I got it from you?” he asked with an identical return smirk. Jack waved him off down the line, simply laughing and shaking his head. 

“Smartass.”

He looked up at the rooftop he’d just come from briefly, sucked his lower lip, then spun around and bounded toward the front of the pack of newsboys. No use pining for last night, or for early morning. He had a job to do. Who was gonna lead these kids, if not for him?

**Jack:**

_It's a crooked game we're playin', one we never lose;_

_Long as suckers don't mind payin' just to get bad news!_

**All:**

_Ain't it a fine life, carrying the banner through it all!_

_A mighty fine life, carrying the banner tough and tall!_

_When that bell rings, we goes where we wishes_

_We's as free as fishes_

_Sure beats washin' dishes_

_What a fine life, carrying the banner home free all!_

Now in his proper place at the forefront of his boys, Jack weaved his way through the sparse traffic in the streets, both auto and human. A couple of cabs honked and spewed epithets when the large group took a few extra seconds to cross an intersection, but that didn’t really bother them all that much. They could spit insults right back -- and they did, with great pleasure. 

Jack smiled to himself as the ravings of the cabbies faded into the rest of the morning din. 

_Ahh, New York City._

He may not have preferred the noisy, odorous metropolis, but he _did_ know it like the back of his hand, and familiarity often breeds a certain level of comfort. Jack was as comfortable maneuvering the streets of New York as those fancy hi-tech super-whatsits were flitting about in its airspace. And they seemed _very_ comfortable doing that.

Jack snorted almost unconsciously as his thoughts drifted over those self-proclaimed ‘heroes’. He didn’t usually like to dwell on them, or even pay them much mind at all, but sometimes he’d catch himself thinking despite his reservations. Oftentimes, his train of thought concerning those particular people followed a similar pattern, almost like a script. 

_What did those guys do to deserve all that power and fame and money, huh?_

_They actually even DO anything for this city?_

_Like REALLY do anything?_

_Sure, they got their fancy gadgets and magic powers. They mighta stopped a wackjob once. Lord knows there’s plenty ‘a those in this town._

_But what even gave them that power in the first place, huh? Huh?_

_How comes they get all the credit while the workin’ man gets NOTHIN’? Treated like gum on the bottom ‘a someone’s shoe? I don’t see those super fellas bustin’ their backs more than once a week, IF that._

_They handle one job and everyone’s all over ‘em, while my boys only stop to eat an’ sleep - if they’re lucky - an’ we ain’t got never so much as a ‘thank you’. How comes we don’t get nothin’? ‘Cause we ain’t got powers?_

_Answer me that._

Every time he’d have this mini argument in his head, a hot flash of shame would wash over him immediately afterward without fail. It was true that he was skeptical of superheroes; half of them didn’t even show their real faces, and yet they were praised and beloved all throughout the city for doing jobs just like everybody else. Admittedly, their jobs were important, but wasn’t every job? Was selling papers not important? It wasn’t glamorous, that was for sure. But how would anybody get their news without papers? 

_I suppose the television helps,_ he thought reluctantly, but he quickly pushed that thought away. People still read papers. They weren’t dead yet. 

Anyhow, it was true that he was skeptical, and it was true that nothing angered him more than seeing his boys treated like they were less than nothing. However, even Jack had to admit to himself that that wasn’t the super peoples’ fault. Not really. It wasn’t as if they were actively putting down the little guy. They were probably too big and important to even _notice_ the little guy at all. 

No, the main problem Jack had with superheroes, though it absolutely killed him to admit it, was that… he was jealous. Not of their silly clothes or their grandiose lifestyles; just of the fact that they seemingly had _everything_ in the city, everything in the WORLD, at their fingertips. They could go where they pleased, do what they pleased, and have full agency over their lives. And for many of them, they’d just stumbled right into it. Super powers were still a young area of science, and Jack and the newsies didn’t have much time or inclination to read those science rags, but even they knew that these powers were randomly bestowed about 75% of the time, if not more. Super beings had won life’s jackpot, and everyone else were the losers clamoring to get a peak at the big winners. 

That was how it seemed to Jack, anyway. 

He shook his head and grunted, driving all thoughts of superheroes from his head. This was no time to be examining his own internal prejudices, whether valid or not. They were nearly to the paper stand, judging by the closest street signs, and there was no way he was going to let himself look distracted or pensive in front of Weasel. 

_Alright, Jack. Time to get your head in the game. Ya’ better--_

_“Oof!!”_

One second he was swaggering down Broadway, and the next he was flat on his ass in the middle of the sidewalk. A small groan from beside him told him that whoever he’d smacked into (or whoever had smacked into him -- people didn’t know how to watch where they were going these days) had also taken a tumble.

“Oogh,” the other person mumbled. “Haven’t fallen like _that_ in a while.”

“Ach! Hey, pal,” Jack snapped, rubbing his back as he got to his feet and aiming a scowl down at whoever had collided with him. “Next time ya’ better watch where you’re-”

His words froze in his throat as his eyes landed on the person on the sidewalk. It was a brunette boy, about his age, dressed in relatively nice but casual clothes, with hair that hung down just past his ears and parted at the center of his head in two small arches. His blue eyes, the most striking feature about him, were wide and looking up at Jack. His mount was turned up in a sheepish and apologetic little smile.

“Oops! Sorry about that, buddy! Guess we both kinda misstepped there, heh,” he said. 

“Uh-huh,” said Jack faintly. He didn’t say anything else. He _wanted_ to, but for some damn reason the words wouldn’t come out. The other boy tilted his head in slight confusion, and Jack was very aware of how stupid he looked, but he couldn’t do anything about it and it was killing him. 

“Oh, geez. You okay, Peter?” said another nearby voice as Jack just continued to stare at the other boy, mouth half-open like a fish. Peter, as his name seemed to be, shifted his gaze from Jack to another boy who’d come to stand beside him.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Peter chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “We just kinda collided, that’s all. I probably should’ve been paying more attention.” He got to his feet and nodded to Jack, who still hadn’t said anything other than ‘uh-huh’. Jack could feel the bewildered eyes of his newsies on him, boring into his back, as they wondered what the hell their fearless, cocky, confident leader was doing staring at some boy he’d bumped into on the street like he was a pay raise.

Jack closed his mouth, then opened it again to say something hopefully more intelligent than ‘uh-huh’, but Romeo pushed through the crowd of boys to the front and beat him to the punch.

"Well hello, hello, hello, beautiful!" he said, slicking back his hair as he sidled up to Peter. “I’m _ever_ so sorry about your little mishap with our friend here. You’ll hafta excuse him; he’s not very bright.” Peter and the other boy, the newcomer with lighter hair and green eyes, both glanced at one another before looking back at Romeo with equally bemused expressions. 

“Uh...okay?” Peter said hesitantly. “It’s, uh, it’s no big deal, really. It was half my fault, too.”

“Bah,” Romeo scoffed, waving a hand. “Don’t put the blame on yourself! In fact… Here, why don’t I makes it up to ya’? I’ll treat ya’ to a beautiful candlelight dinner on one ‘a the tallest buildings in town!” He grabbed Peter’s hand, startling the shorter boy, and grinned down at him. “And by ‘treat’ I mean with my incredibly allurin’ company, ‘cause I ain’t got a dollar to my name.” Some of the boys behind them erupted into laughter, and this was enough to snap Jack out of his daze and back into his usual persona. 

"Whoa, step down, Romeo," he said sternly, gently pulling the newsboy away by his arm. "Nothin' concerns you here." He shooed Romeo back into the conglomerate of boys, then turned to Peter and his taller friend with a confident grin on his face. 

_That’s it, Jacky boy, that’s it, nothin’ but confidence. That’s all there is to it,_

He wasn’t totally sure why he’d frozen up back there, but whatever the reason, it probably didn’t really matter. What mattered now was that he put himself back in control of the situation. It just wouldn’t do to leave these two boys with a negative impression of his boys. 

"Good mornin', fellas! I apologize for my associate’s _repugnant_ behavior,” he said exaggeratedly, shaking his head and tutting. “He just can’t seem to control himself in the presence of beautiful people.” He raised his eyebrows a couple of times, and his grin morphed into a cheeky smirk. 

Peter exchanged another look with his friend, his confusion now settling into clear annoyance. Uh-oh. That wasn’t what was supposed to happen.

“Uh-huh,” Peter said flatly. “Look, uh, it’s fine, just forget about it. If you don’t mind, though, my friend and I have to get moving.”

“Hey, hey, hey, what’s the rush?” Jack wheedled. “Why don’tcha let me make it up to ya’ somehow? For real. Not like Bozo back there.” He jerked his thumb at Romeo, who was still tittering amongst his friends. “I got all the best spots in this here city. I know them streets like the back ‘a my hand.”

“I don’t think so,” the taller boy said while Peter rolled his eyes. “We’re kinda busy. Sorry.”

“Busy? You two handsome fellas? On a Sunday? Say it ain’t so!” Jack exclaimed, putting a hand to his heart. “What could you possibly be doin’ on a Sunday when you should be outta this heat?”

“Oh my God,” the tall boy muttered under his breath. Peter pinched the bridge of his nose, but he did at least offer Jack a response -- a response he absolutely had not been expecting.

“If you _must_ know,” he sighed, “we’re looking for a group of kids calling themselves ‘newsies’. You wouldn’t happen to know where they might be, would you, oh streetwise smooth-talker?”

Several of the boys behind Jack began to hoot with laughter. Jack silenced them with a quick glare before turning back to Peter and his friend.

“Well, now!” he said cheerfully. “You’re in luck! I do very well happen to know those kids of which you speak.”

“Oh yeah?” Peter raised an eyebrow. 

“Why, certainly!” Jack took an exaggerated bow, then gestured to the gathered teenage boys standing behind and beside him. “I am proud to introduce myself and my cohorts as the newsies you say you’re lookin’ for.” The two boys’ eyes popped wide open in shock.

“Wait, you- you’re serious?” Peter asked, flabbergasted.

“‘Course I’m serious! I look un-serious to you?” Jack tilted his head down and leaned forward a bit. 

“Uh...I mean...I guess not,” Peter said uncertainly. “That’s...some coincidence, wow.”

“You’re tellin’ me!” Jack chuckled. “You’ll hafta excuse me for askin’, but to what do we owe this pleasure? Why would gents of your status be walkin’ around this concrete jungle lookin’ for _us_?” He genuinely was curious. And what on earth were the odds that the boy he’d knocked down would be actively looking for them in the first place??

The two boys exchanged yet another look, but this one was more nervous than exasperated. Jack didn’t have time to wonder at it, though, because Peter quickly said, “Uhh, we...y’know, with times being what they are, and how hard it is to get work in this economy and everything, we were thinking that...maybe we might, uh...see if we could join you!” He smiled a bit too widely. That made Jack somewhat suspicious. What were these two playing at?

“Nobody _wants_ to be a newsie,” he said guardedly. “You pullin’ my leg?”

“No, no! Of course not,” Peter insisted. “Look, I-I know you probably don’t get asked this often, but we really are interested in seeing how you guys operate. We could really use any extra cash we can make, a-and someone told us that some kids started selling papers for the Bugle not too long ago, and we thought…” He let the rest of the sentence trail off and smiled hopefully at Jack, his friend mirroring his expression.

Well. This _was_ unusual. 

Jack looked back at the rest of the newsies. He knew they’d been listening to the whole thing with eagerly cocked ears, despite their casual disinterested appearance. Sure enough, many pairs of eyes were staring back at him with a question in each one. He didn’t have a straight answer to what their eyes asked, but he had to make a decision in the next few seconds, so he decided to go with the first thing his gut told him.

“Well, well,” Jack said, stroking his chin in a performative fashion. “Ain’t that somethin’. I don’ think we ever got new newsies just like that, but here ya’ are.” He shrugged after a moment. “Guess there ain’t no point in sayin’ no. Hell, we can use all the help we can get!” Jack turned around, spread his arms wide, and donned an even wider grin. “Boys, looks like we got ourselves a new headline! ‘Newsie Ranks Grow by the Second! Soon, They’ll Own This Town!’” The other boys cheered, clearly intrigued and not at all averse to having a couple of new faces join their small community. Jack himself _certainly_ didn’t mind it, especially considering one of them was quite good-looking. 

Well, both of them were pretty attractive, but the boy he’d bumped into just had an air about him that had fully captured Jack’s attention. 

_Oh, God, was he really admitting that? What a sappy sucker._

Whatever. It wasn’t like anything was likely to come out of it; Peter had made that pretty clear in the short time he’d known him. Although, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to keep trying just a little bit more…? Jack was never one to know when to stop pressing his luck, after all.

Turning back to Peter, Jack lowered his voice and raised an eyebrow again. “And, uh, maybe you an’ I could make a headline a little later?” It was a stupid pickup line, Jack knew that. It was _incredibly_ stupid. But sometimes stupid was charming, right?

Peter’s smile turned back into a thin-lipped frown.

“I've got a headline for you," Peter retorted, clearly a bit put off. “'Cheeky Boy Gets Nothing for his Troubles'". Jack's grin faltered for a moment, and the other newsies whooped and hollered behind him in delight. 

"Back to the bench, slugger! You struck out!" Romeo howled. 

Jack’s cheeks colored briefly, but he soon shook it off and shrugged in an _eh, what ya’ gonna do?_ kind of way. 

“Alright, alright,” he acquiesced, waving his hands to quiet down the crowd of boys. He again faced the newcomers, his cocky persona fully intact once more. “All _personal_ matters aside, I would officially like to welcome ya’ to the newsie ranks, and that means introducin’ myself properly.” He stuck his hand out to the two boys. “The name’s Jack! Jack Kelly, at your service.”

Peter and his friend looked at Jack’s outstretched hand with incredulity for just a moment before relenting and each giving it a firm shake. 

“I guess that’s supposed to be a good thing,” mumbled Peter with an eyeroll. Raising his voice to a normal volume, he added, “My name’s Peter Parker.”

“I’m Harry,” said the taller boy. “Harry O-” Harry faltered suddenly, stuttering for a short while before managing, “-uh, Harry Olson.”

Not taking much notice of Harry’s odd behavior. Jack grinned again and clapped his hands once, loudly.

“Alright, then! That’s it! Welcome to our humble little family, gentlemen. We’re sure glad to have ya’ on board.”

“It’s good to be on board,” said Peter. “I think.” Then his face relaxed a bit, and he allowed himself a small smile. “Hey, uh, listen. This means a lot to us, really. So...thanks.”

“Yeah, we appreciate it,” Harry agreed. “We figured it’d be kinda weird to just ask to join, so thanks for not thinking we’re weird.”

“Oh, we think you’re weird,” called Race from the back of the group. “But that just means you’ll fit right in!” 

More laughter erupted from the group of boys, and with the spectacle seemingly over, they began to move as one entity toward their destination once again. Jack motioned for the newly-appointed newsies to follow him, noticing their lost looks immediately.

“Hey, c’mon, fellas, stick with me,” he said. “Ya’s liable to get run over if ya’ just stand there lookin’ confused!”

“O-Oh! Uh, right, sorry,” Peter chuckled sheepishly. He and Harry quickly fell in step beside Jack, and the three of them joined the conglomerate and began to make their way toward the front. They could overhear snippets of conversation from the other boys as they moved throughout the throng.

"Hey, Crutchie, what's the leg say? Gonna rain?" one boy asked.

"Uuuhh, no rain," Crutchie replied. He paused and shook his leg a bit, then smiled. "Oh-ho! Partly cloudy, clear by evening!" 

"We gotta bottle this guy!" exclaimed Finch. 

"And the limp sells fifty papes a week, all by itself!" Race whooped. 

“Oh my God,” Peter gasped suddenly, quietly. His eyes were locked on Crutchie. Jack looked at him quizzically. 

“What?”

Peter shook his head, looking somewhat embarrassed.

“N-Nothing, never mind.”

But Jack saw the look he shared with Harry. What was that about? 

“You got somethin’ to say about Crutchie?” Jack asked, furrowing his brow. Peter again shook his head, vigorously this time.

“No!! No, not at all. I just didn’t- I didn’t realize that…” He swallowed. “Does he get around okay? Like that?”

“Hey, Crutchie’s as strong as they come,” Jack said, his chest swelling with pride. “He ain’t got no need for charity. Don’t pity him, aight? He don’t want it or need it.”

Peter and Harry nodded mutely. Jack could tell from their worried eyes that their concern likely came from a place of genuine care rather than condescension, but he still wouldn’t have anyone pitying his best friend. Life was tough on the streets. That was just how it was. But that wasn’t stopping Crutchie for a second.

"I don't need the limp to sell papes!" Crutchie said confidently to the boys beside him, pounding his chest with his hand. He apparently hadn’t heard any of Jack, Peter, and Harry’s short conversation. That was probably a good thing. "I got poisonality!" 

**Crutchie** : 

_It takes a smile that spreads like butter!_

_The kind that turns a lady's head!_

**Race:**

_It takes an orphan with a stutter-_

**Finch:**

_Who's also blind-_

**Albert:**

_And mute-_

**Elmer:**

_And dead!_

**All:**

_Summer stinks and winter's freezin' when you works outdoors!_

_Start out sweatin', end up sneezin'; in between it pours!_

_Still, it's a fine life, carrying the banner with me chums!_

_A bunch of big shots, tossin' out a freebie to the bums._

**Finch:**

_Hey! What's the hold up?_

_Waitin' makes me antsy._

_I likes livin' chancey-_

**All:**

_Harlem to Delancey. What a fine life, carrying the banner through the-_

“Oh, my goodness! You poor, poor children,” came a high, sweet voice. Jack smirked to himself. Ah, yes, the other staple of their route to work: the nuns. 

Sure enough, several women dressed in long, dark habits came down the steps of the chapel they were passing, each with several plates of food and cups of coffee in their arms. The stuff they served was always crumbs and leftovers , but free food was free food. You’d have to be crazy to turn it down.

“What’s going on?” Harry whispered. Jack chuckled. It was very obvious that neither Peter nor Harry had ever been in need of handouts. 

“Them’s the sisters,” Jack explained as the nuns handed out the rations amongst the boys. “We pass this place every day on our way to the stand. They kinda took pity on us, give us some breakfast when we come by.”

  
  
  
  


**Nuns:**

_Blessed children, though you wander, lost and depraved_

_Jesus loves you, you shall be saved._

**Misc.**

_Curdled_

_(Just give me half a cup)_

_Coffee_

_(Somethin’ to wake me up)_

_Concrete donuts_

_(I gotta find an angle)_

_Sprinkled with mold._

_(It’s gettin’ bad out there.)_

_Homemade_

_[It’s eighty-eight degrees]_

_(Papers is all I got)_

_Biscuits_

_(Jack says to change my spot)_

_[Wish I could catch a breeze]_

_Just two years old_

_(Maybe it’s worth a shot)_

_All I can catch is fleas._

"Thanks for the grub, sister!" Elmer said cheerily as he accepted the food from a very tall nun. 

"Elmer, when are we going to be seeing you INSIDE the church?" the nun asked, raising an eyebrow. He grinned. 

"I dunno, sister, but it's bound to rain sooner or later!"

The nuns simply sighed and shook their heads as the newsies wandered off again, Jack, Peter, and Harry at the helm. It looked like the new boys wanted to say something, but whatever it was, they kept it to themselves. That was alright. If they wanted to talk, they’d talk. Jack had more important things to worry about, anyway; looking at the position of the sun, they were very nearly running late, and that would be a nightmare to deal with.

“C’mon, boys, step up the pace!” Jack shouted back across the mass of teenagers. “Weasel’ll have our heads if we’re late again!”

**Race:**

_If I hate the headline, I'll make up a headline, and I'll say anything I hafta._

**All:**

_'Cause it's two for a penny, if I take too many, Weasel just makes me eat 'em after!_

_Got a feelin' bout the headline!_

_I smells me a headline!_

_(I do, too_

_So it must be true!)_

_Papes are gonna sell like we was givin' 'em away!_

_Betcha dinner it's a doozy 'bout a pistol-packin' floozy_

_(What a switch!_

_Soon we'll all be rich!)_

_Who knows how to make a Newsie's day!_

_(Don't know any better way to make a Newsie's day!)_

_You wanna move the next edition?_

_Give us an earthquake or a war._

**Elmer:**

_How 'bout a crooked politician?_

  
  


**All:**

_Ya nitwit, that ain't news more!_

_Uptown to Grand Central Station, down to city hall!_

_We improves our circulation, walkin' 'till we fall!_

_But we'll be out there_

_(Got a feelin' bout the headline!)_

_Carrying the banner man to man!_

_(I smells me a headline!_

_Papes are gonna sell like we was givin' 'em away!)_

_We're always out there_

_Soakin' every sucker that we can!_

_(Betcha dinner it's a doozy 'bout a pistol-packin' floozy!)_

_Don't know any better way to make a Newsie's day!_

_Here's the headline:_

_(I was stakin' out the circus)_

_Newsies on a mission!_

_(And then someone said that coney's really hot)_

_Kill the competition!_

_(But when I got there)_

_Sell the next edition!_

_(There was Spot with all his cronies.)_

_We'll be out there_

_(Heck, I'm gonna take what little dough I got and play with the ponies)_

_Carrying the banner!_

_See us out there_

_(We at least deserves a headline for the hours that they work us)_

_Carrying the banner!_

_Always out there_

_(Geez, I bet if I just stayed a little longer at the circus-)_

_Carrying the banner!_

Soon enough, Jack saw the infamous gate that admitted them to their workplace each morning.

“Ah, there she is,” he said fondly -- but not too fondly. “We have arrived.” He made a small bow for the benefit of Peter and Harry.

“Is this where you work?” Peter asked, tilting his head as he peered through the gate.

“Yep! Well, kinda. We get the papes from ol’ Weasel, and then we go sell ‘em to whoever can spare some coin.” He patted the metal gate. “All starts here, though.” 

“ _Weasel?_ ” Harry asked incredulously. Jack just grinned.

“You’ll meet ‘im soon enough.”

Some of the boys stuck their heads through the slats in the gate to peer up at a large board on one of the buildings. Someone was up there on a ladder, changing out the old words for some brand new ones.

"Hey, look, they're putting up the headline!" called Finch. 

"I hope it's really bloody with a nice, clear picture!" Specs added. 

Peter and Harry raised their eyebrows and looked to Jack, but Jack was too busy trying to get a look at the headline himself. When the man by the board moved away and began to climb back down, everyone could see that it read ‘Trolley Strike Enters Third Week’. A groan erupted from the assembled boys. 

"Oh, come on."

"The trolley strike? Again?!" 

"Three weeks of the same story," Race grouched. 

"They're killin' us with that snoozer!" Finch agreed, putting a hand to his head. At that moment, two bigger, burlier boys approached the gate from the other side, drawing the attention of the newsies away from the disappointing headline.

One of the larger boys unlocked the gate and pushed it aside with a _screee_. Then he looked down at Peter and Harry, who happened to be standing right in front of him, and sneered.

“Make way, step aside. I said move it!”

“O-oh- hey!” Peter complained as he and Harry were unceremoniously jostled to the side. Harry opened his mouth and looked like he wanted to give the large boy a piece of his mind, but Jack quickly put a hand on his shoulder and made a zipping motion by his mouth. He didn’t like the Delancey twins any more than the next guy, but provoking them was definitely not recommended for newcomers. If Peter and Harry didn’t learn quick, it would probably spell bad news for the whole lot of them.

"Oh, dear me, what is that unpleasant aroma? I fear the sewers may have backed up during the night," Race snickered. 

"Or could it be...the Delancey Brothers!" several of the newsies cried in unison. The Delanceys huffed and grumbled not unlike angry pitbulls. Finch wrinkled his nose. 

"Hey, Oscar, word on the street is that you and your brother took money to beat up striking trolley workers. That true?" 

Oscar cracked a grin. "Yeah, so? It's honest work." 

"Crackin' the heads of the defenseless workers?" Finch shot back. 

"Hey, I take care of the guy who takes care of me," Oscar retorted. Harry stiffened beside Peter and Jack, prompting them both to glance over at him. 

"Harry?" Peter questioned. “You okay?” 

“Ahhh, ya’ ain’t lettin’ those dumb oxes scare ya’, huh?” Jack asked quietly, offering a friendly smirk. “They talk big and they hit hard, but that’s really all there is to ‘em. Just leave the smart-assin’ to me an’ the seasoned boys an’ you’ll be fine.” 

“Huh? O-Oh, uh, yeah,” Harry said absently. “I-I mean, I’m fine.” He was still intently watching the confrontation going on in front of them, posture tense and fists locked at his sides. Jack frowned slightly and made a mental note to see what was going on there a little later. Maybe Harry had gotten into a bad skirmish with the Delanceys before?

"Ain't your father one of the strikers?" asked Race. Oscar sneered and shoved the smaller boy aside. 

"Well I guess he didn't take care of me." 

His brother, Morris, strode past Oscar into the crowd of boys, and as he caught sight of Crutchie, he suddenly smiled wickedly. Jack registered what was going to happen just a second too late. 

"Hey, you want some of this too, ya' lousy crip?" Morris sneered. He grabbed the crutch out of Crutchie’s hand and shoved him to the ground, kicking him once for good measure. Immediately, there was an uproar. Peter and Harry’s faces were twin pictures of rage, which, while Jack appreciated their indignance at Crutchie’s treatment, would be very dangerous if handled incorrectly. So, despite the fire churning in his own belly, Jack motioned for them to back down as he went over to his fallen friend.

"That's not nice, Morris!" Jack said firmly, helping Crutchie up. 

"Five to one Jack skunks him," Race whispered to the others conspiratorially. 

Sure enough, Jack strode up to the two looming, beast-like boys and said, "One unfortunate day you might find you got a bum gam of your own! How'd you like us pickin' on you, then, huh?" He turned back to the newsies. "Hey! Maybe we should find out!" A great cheer went up from the assembled boys, and Jack grinned. 

Swiftly and with as much force as he could muster, he kicked both Oscar and Morris directly in the kneecaps. The two howled in pain as they collapsed to the ground. Unfortunately, they didn’t stay down for long. 

"Damn! Just wait 'till I get my hands on you, you little punk!" Oscar roared, getting to his feet. 

Jack laughed and shot a wink toward Peter and Harry, who were watching with wide, incredibly nervous eyes. Aw, they were worried about him! That was sweet. 

"Ya’ gotta catch me first!" he whooped, and then he took off like a shot. He could both hear and feel the Delanceys tearing after him in hot pursuit, but that didn’t matter. They were big and slow; he was small (comparatively) and fast. It was no contest. They’d be worn out in a matter of minutes. And when he got back, he’d make sure to check in on their newest recruits, make sure they weren’t scarred from their first day on the job. Being a newsie certainly wasn’t peaches and cream, after all.

**All:**

_We'll be out there, carrying the banner man to man!_

_We're always out there,_

_Soakin' every sucker that we can!_

_Here's the headline:_

_Newsies on a mission!_

_Kill the competition!_

_Sell the next edition!_

_We'll be out there, carrying the banner!_

_See us out there, carrying the banner!_

_Always out there, carrying the banner!_

_Ah, ah, ah, go!_


End file.
